The Seminole Indians of Florida | Page 9

me to show, in gala dress, Me-le, a half breed
Seminole, the son of an Indian, Ho-laq-to-mik-ko, by a negress adopted
into the tribe when a child.
[Transcriber's Note: The picture described does not appear in the
printed text, and is not included in the List of Illustrations.]
Me-le sat for his picture in my room at a hotel in Orlando. He had just
come seventy miles from his home, at Cat Fish Lake, to see the white
man and a white man's town. He was clothed "in his best," and,
moreover, had just purchased and was wearing a pair of store boots in
addition to his home-made finery. He was the owner of the one pair of
red flannel leggins of which I have spoken. These were not long
enough to cover the brown skin of his sturdy thighs. His ornaments
were silver crescents, wristlets, a silver studded belt, and a peculiar
battlement-like band of silver on the edge of his turban. Notice his
uncropped head of luxuriant, curly hair, the only exception I observed
to the singular cut of hair peculiar to the Seminole men. Me-le,
however, is in many other more important respects an exceptional
character. He is not at all in favor with the Seminole of pure blood.
"Me-le ho-lo-wa kis" (Me-le is of no account) was the judgment passed
upon him to me by some of the Indians. Why? Because he likes the
white man and would live the white man's life if he knew how to break

away safely from his tribe. He has been progressive enough to build for
himself a frame house, inclosed on all sides and entered by a door.
More than that, he is not satisfied with the hunting habits and the
simple agriculture of his people, nor with their ways of doing other
things. He has started an orange grove, and in a short time will have a
hundred trees, so he says, bearing fruit. He has bought and uses a
sewing machine, and he was intelligent enough, so the report goes,
when the machine had been taken to pieces in his presence, to put it
together again without mistake. He once called off for me from a
newspaper the names of the letters of our alphabet, and legibly wrote
his English name, "John Willis Mik-ko." Mik-ko has a restless,
inquisitive mind, and deserves the notice and care of those who are
interested in the progress of this people. Seeking him one day at
Orlando, I found him busily studying the locomotive engine of the little
road which had been pushed out into that part of the frontier of
Florida's civilized population. Next morning he was at the station to see
the train depart, and told me he would like to go with me to
Jacksonville. He is the only Florida Seminole, I believe, who had at
that time seen a railway.
Psychical Characteristics.
I shall now glance at what may more properly be called the psychical
characteristics of the Florida Indians. I have been led to the conclusion
that for Indians they have attained a relatively high degree of psychical
development. They are an uncivilized, I hardly like to call them a
savage, people. They are antagonistic to white men, as a race, and to
the white man's culture, but they have characteristics of their own,
many of which are commendable. They are decided in their enmity to
any representative of the white man's government and to everything
which bears upon it the government's mark. To one, however, who is
acquainted with recent history this enmity is but natural, and a
confessed representative of the government need not be surprised at
finding in the Seminole only forbidding and unlovely qualities. But
when suspicion is disarmed, one whom they have welcomed to their
confidence will find them evincing characteristics which will excite his
admiration and esteem. I was fortunate enough to be introduced to the

Seminole, not as a representative of our National Government, but
under conditions which induced them to welcome me as a friend. In my
intercourse with them, I found them to be not only the brave, self
reliant, proud people who have from time to time withstood our nation's
armies in defense of their rights, but also a people amiable, affectionate,
truthful, and communicative. Nor are they devoid of a sense of humor.
With only few exceptions, I found them genial. Indeed, the old chief,
Tûs-te-nûg-ge, a man whose warwhoop and deadly hand, during the
last half century, have often been heard and felt among the Florida
swamps and prairies, was the only one disposed to sulk in my presence
and to repel friendly advances. He called me to him when I entered the
camp where he was, and, with great dignity of manner, asked after my